


We Get the Job Done

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Fenton is a sweetheart, I'll never be over it, I'm still not over Latino!Fenton guys, Life & Times of Scrooge McDuck, Racism, Scrooge cares about his friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Fenton and Scrooge commiserate over the immigrant experience.





	We Get the Job Done

**Author's Note:**

> The reboot's decision to make Fenton Latino means so much to me, I can't put it properly into words. As great as I expected the reboot to be, nothing could've prepared me for that. And Lin Manuel Miranda?? Get outta here!
> 
> There are a couple mentions/easter eggs from 1980s Ducktales episodes and The Life & Times of Scrooge McDuck. Let me know if you catch them all! ;D
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short fic, and please comment!

Scrooge had been waiting in the empty lab of his primary R&D facility for nearly twenty increasingly aggravating minutes before Fenton finally walked through the door. 

“It’s about time!” Scrooge blustered, rising quickly from the chair he had sat in to wait. He forced himself not to wince as his knees creaked at the abrupt movement. “I dinnae pay you to dawdle!” 

Fenton blinked at him, as if barely registering the presence of not just the world’s richest duck but the duck who signed his paychecks. 

“Oh, uh, sorry, Mr. McDuck,” he responded, his voice stilted. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. I don’t have anything ready, you might have to wait until Gyro comes in.”

Scrooge was sorely tempted to remind Fenton that  _ as _ his boss, he had the right to pop in unannounced whenever he felt like it, and that he should learn to be prepared for that eventuality at all times. But something about the young scientist’s countenance gave him pause. And though he was loathe to admit it, Scrooge found it easy to learn his employees’ mannerisms, particularly those whose presence he found slightly more than bearable. Fenton was one such individual, whose good natured demeanor was never an act for the intention of brownnosing, and whose enthusiasm was easily contagious. But something was obviously wrong with him now. 

For one, Fenton didn’t _sound_ like Fenton. Normally the trouble was getting Fenton to stop talking long enough to demonstrate his and Gyro’s latest marvel, and now he was barely even _looking_ at Scrooge. Instead he appeared to be making a show of organizing and reorganizing files, despite the high probability that there were already been in order thanks to a certain fastidious research assistant. 

“Fenton,” Scrooge said, perhaps a tad sharply, “what’s the matter with you?”

The scientist startled, scattered papers across the counter and onto the floor. Fenton let out a small, aggrieved sigh before crouching to pick up papers that had fallen. 

Scrooge stooped as well, retrieving a folder that had ended up beside his feet. Slapping it onto the table, he looked Fenton square in the eyes. 

“I’ll say it again -  _ what _ is the matter?”

Fenton glanced away, anxiously running a hand through his coiffed hair and putting it in disarray. 

“It’s-it’s nothing, Mr. McDuck.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Aye,  _ nothing _ . And I suppose ‘nothing’ made you jumpy as Gyro on his tenth cup of coffee?”

Fenton managed a small laugh at that, but there was still a tightness about his eyes that Scrooge didn’t like. 

“Is everything alright?” Scrooge asked after a moment, his tone wary. “Is your mother well?”

Fenton laughter was more genuine this time, and leaned forward on the counter, resting his cheek in his palm. 

“My mom’s fine, Mr. McDuck,” he said, before his expression became slightly chagrined. “I must really be worrying you for you to ask that.”

Scrooge squared his shoulders and placed both hands over his cane in a show of structured nonchalance despite the embarrassment simmering beneath his feathers at being caught out. 

“When you show up to work looking like your dog’s died, anyone’s bound to jump to conclusions,” Scrooge retorted, before narrowing his eyes. “What I  _ would _ like to know is what has you in such a state.”

It was Fenton’s turn to look embarrassed. 

“I don’t- It’s not a big deal.”

Scrooge’s unimpressed expression did not waver, save for the slight uptick of his brow. 

Fenton sighed, folding his arms over his chest in obvious discomfort. “Just-something someone said when I stopped to get coffee on my way here.”

Scrooge leaned back, blinking in surprise. Fenton was one of the few people Scrooge knew to whom insults and negativity had virtually no effect, and he spoke from experience because he had provided both in spades. For Fenton to have been affected this badly, it must have been serious. 

He made to question Fenton further, but the young scientist apparently didn’t require any more prompting. 

“I was talking to my mom on the phone while I waited for my coffee,” Fenton said, in such a quiet voice that Scrooge’s concern immediately tripled. “Talking in Spanish. And almost as soon as I hung up, some... _ guy  _ shouted at me to speak in English. That if I wanted to speak Spanish, I should go back to Mexico.”

Fenton laughed mirthlessly, gesturing toward himself. “I’m  _ Cuban _ ! I almost wanted to tell him that, but…”

“Did you say anything?” Scrooge asked after a moment. 

Fenton raised his hand to his forehead as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t know  _ what _ to say. I just  _ left _ .” He smiled weakly. “I even forgot the coffees.”

Scrooge remained silent, his expression pensive, and his grip tight around the handle of his cane. 

Fenton chuckled awkwardly in the growing silence, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, like I said, it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t quite understand-”

“I understand plenty, Fenton,” Scrooge interrupted, his posture becoming less tense and his expression lightening. “It wasn’t that long ago that I suffered the same fools you do today.”

Fenton’s brow furrowed. “Mr. McDuck, I’m not sure I’m following.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Ach, the young! Heads empty as gourds. Have you forgotten that I came to this country an immigrant, the same as the woman who raised you?”

“Mr. McDuck, I didn’t realize-” Fenton began to say, eyes wide, when Scrooge waved his apology aside. 

“It’s fine, lad. Times are different now, and ‘immigrant’ has a new meaning.”

“What was it like for you?” Fenton asked eagerly. “My mom hardly ever talks about it.”

Fenton’s renewed energy reminded Scrooge of the kids, and even longer ago, of Donald, begging for stories of his exploits and marveling as he wove the tale of his many adventures. It was for this reason, and not the twinge of empathy deep in his chest, that he humored Fenton. 

“I was thirteen years old when I arrived in New Orleans, practically penniless and completely alone,” Scrooge said, “and from the moment I left Glasgow I never stopped moving.”

“Where did you go?” Fenton asked, his eyes widening in awe. 

Scrooge smiled nostalgically. “Everywhere. Anywhere there was a profit to me made and adventure to be had.”

Fenton blew out a breath, his expression thunderstruck. “I don’t think I could ever do something like that.”

“And you shouldn’t have to,” Scrooge retorted. “My generation, your mother’s, we had to claw our way to the top so you wouldn’t have to. So my nephews wouldn’t have to.”

Scrooge pointed sharply at Fenton, his tone admonishing. “Now that doesn’t mean you should stop working hard, nothing in life is  _ free  _ after all.”

Fenton laughed, raising his hands placatingly. “Now this conversation is entering familiar territory. I’m half expecting to find my  _ mamá _ hiding behind you.” 

“ _The_ _point is,_ ” Scrooge cut in, “I know what it’s like to deal with close-minded, ignorant numpties. Have the kids ever told you about the first time I was arrested, not long after I first arrived?”

The young scientist’s brow furrowed as he hedged, “I think they mentioned you were arrested for wearing a kilt?”

Scrooge cackled. “Aye, and an amusing story to tell, too. Not that it’s true in the least.”

Fenton’s eyes widened. “Really? But you... _ were _ arrested?”

“I was fifteen at the time, working in Louisville,” Scrooge replied fondly. “There was this muscle-headed bampot smacking around a smaller bird, a pigeon I think, who he claimed owed him money. Of course, the pigeon was Polish, didn’t speak a word of English, and the big guy just wanted an excuse to rough someone up, so I intervened. 

“I managed to get the pigeon away, when the lunkhead starts laying into  _ me _ ! Says all sorts of foul things about Scots, which I won’t bear repeating, and as I was relatively well known, he had a few choice words for me personally as well.”

Fenton stared at him with beak agape. “What did you do?”

Scrooge chuckled. “I laid him flat, of course! With one punch too, mighty embarrassing.”

“But then how did you wind up under arrest?” Fenton puzzled. 

“Well that bampot just happened to be  _ Police Lieutenant  _ Bampot,” Scrooge explained, grinning at Fenton’s expression of dawning horror. “I was thrown in a cell faster than you could say ‘sawyer,’ and left there for three days.”

Fenton shook his head in mingled awe and dismay. “I don’t think I could ever do something like that.”

“What, punch a policeman?” Scrooge questioned. “Well, not as yourself perhaps, but as Gizmoduck-”

“No!” Fenton interrupted. “I meant being brave like that.”

Scrooge just stared. “Fenton, you save people from burning buildings on a weekly basis, face down the Beagle Boys, Magica de Spell, Launchpad’s  _ piloting- _ ”

“As  _ Gizmoduck _ !” Fenton cried. “Without the suit, I can’t do anything to help!”

“You  _ are _ Gizmoduck,” Scrooge retorted hotly. “With or without the suit.”

Fenton’s shoulders slumped and he stared down at the counter. “I just thought...if I’d had the suit with me, I could’ve told that guy off no problem. But I just...left.”

Scrooge sighed, looking off to the side for a moment. 

“You dinnae need a glorified can opener to be brave, Fenton,” he said after a long pause. 

“Hey, watch it, I helped build that glorified can opener,” Fenton responded wryly. “And besides,you’re the world's greatest adventurer! You’re  _ Scrooge McDuck _ !”

“And you’re Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera!” Scrooge retorted, “You’re  _ Gizmoduck _ ! Your bravery was never in question, and it definitely didn't need to be proven against a brainless, ignorant nobody.”

Fenton rubbed his eyes, suspiciously bright in the fluorescent lights of the lab. 

“Thanks, Mr. McDuck,” he said, voice thick. 

Scrooge crossed his arms, looking everywhere but at Fenton. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it together, Cabrera.” 

Fenton chuckled, his eyes only a little glassy now, moving to reorganize the files he had scattered earlier. 

“While we wait for Gyro to show up, do you have any more stories about your adventures growing up?”

Scrooge smirked, and Fenton recognized the familiar glint of nostalgia and passion in the old duck’s eye. 

“Well there was the time I spent as a cattle rustlers in the Badlands of Montana…”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I hope you guys liked the fic! Comments are greatly appreciated :D


End file.
